Haven't They Grown(56)

The Gallery turns out to be a crowded, homely café in Huntingdon, with square tables and a comforting smell of baked potatoes. Lou and I take the last available table. I tell her it’s my treat, whatever she wants to order, and thank her for being willing to talk to me, even though she’s the one who’s initiated the meeting.

‘How did you get my number?’ I ask her once we’ve got our cups of tea in front of us. ‘The mobile, I mean. When you asked for my details, I gave you the landline.’

‘You’ll think I’m a stalker.’ She looks embarrassed. ‘I tried the landline and no one answered, so I Googled you. I found your massage business website.’

With a photograph of me smiling, in my white work tunic, and both my phone numbers, mobile and landline, as well as my work email.

‘Sorry,’ says Lou unnecessarily.

‘Don’t be. You’re no more of a stalker than we all are these days. You could have saved yourself the bother, though, and spoken to me yesterday.’

‘I was too scared. I can’t believe I’m doing it now.’ She shakes her head, as if at her own recklessness. ‘I could lose my job if I’m caught discussing families who are at the school. And I really need my job. My husband’s business had to fight an expensive legal battle last year that nearly cleaned us out.’

‘That sounds rough. So … what changed your mind? About speaking to me. Was it the police?’

‘Police?’ Lou’s eyes widen.

‘Or social services? Has someone been to the school today, or rung up, asking about the Caters?’ It’s probably too soon. PC Paul Pollard might do something, but it will take him at least a day or two to get round to it. And the likelihood is, he’ll do nothing.

‘No. Why would you think that?’ Lou asks.

‘I’m trying to work out why you suddenly decided you want to talk to me. Enough to look me up online and ring me. That’s a big change from yesterday. Did something happen?’

Her eyes are flitting around, not settling anywhere. ‘Look, I need to know before this goes any further,’ she says. ‘Are the police involved in whatever’s going on? Please tell me. Don’t lie.’

I try not to be irritated by the suggestion that I would. Something I can’t put my finger on makes me think that being completely straight with her is going to be the most effective strategy.

I take a long sip of my tea and start with my detour to Wyddial Lane last Saturday.

As simply and clearly as I can, I tell her everything. By the time I’ve finished, she’s drunk all her tea. My cup’s still full, and cold.

‘And … you told all that to the police, everything you’ve just told me?’

I nod.

‘Weren’t you embarrassed?’

‘Why would I be?’

‘It’s such a crazy-sounding story. It’s … I mean it’s outrageous.’ She stresses the word. ‘I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I couldn’t sit there and say all that to the police.’

‘It’s not the first time I’ve been outrageous,’ I tell her. ‘Sometimes you have to do the things no one else would do to get a result. My husband only got his first job because I applied for it on his behalf. Without telling him.’

‘As his wife?’

‘No. Pretending to be him.’

‘Wow.’

I can’t tell if she’s impressed or repelled. ‘I’d shown him the advert and he’d said, “There’s no way I’d get that. I’m too inexperienced.” And he was right, he wouldn’t have got it, because he’s not the sort of person who’d really sell himself in the bold way I could tell that particular company wanted. It was obvious from their ad. So I wrote an application letter basically saying “I’m brilliant and you won’t find better” – more subtly than that. It was a great letter, if I say so myself – witty, charming, but it made the point: “I’m the best you’ll get”. And he got the job!’

‘You’re very different from me,’ says Lou. ‘I feel terrible for being here.’

‘Then why are you?’

She stares into her empty teacup. I’m starting to feel the first prickle of impatience when she says, ‘If I talk to you about the Caters, will you swear never to tell anyone that the information came from me?’

‘I can’t promise to tell nobody,’ I say. ‘If the police do end up looking into it and they come back to me with—’

‘I don’t mean the police. If there’s an official investigation, that’s different.’

‘I promise that whatever you tell me won’t lead to you losing your job. You can trust me. I’m not going to land you in any trouble.’

She nods. ‘Yesterday, you asked me about Jeanette Cater’s accent, or your daughter did.’

I wait.

‘Jeanette Cater – the woman I know by that name – has an English accent. Like yours.’

I show her the photo I took in the car park of the other woman. ‘Then who’s this?’

‘Yanina. She’s the Caters’ nanny. I don’t know her last name. I think she’s Ukrainian.’

‘And the woman you know as Jeanette – does she look a lot like Thomas, facially?’